


Windows

by Bitterblue



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, surprisingly not dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1733195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitterblue/pseuds/Bitterblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You came to my apartment when you were told. I don't believe you really want this to stop. Now finish undressing her." For tumblr user prolethean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Windows

"Ugh, she's got a thing for windows, doesn't she?" Cosima moves closer to the glass, peering out beyond her reflection. The city is humming, busy on a Tuesday morning. When Delphine doesn't answer, she turns, question on her lips, and then falls silent. Rachel is there, next to Delphine, carefully undoing the buttons on Delphine's blouse. Finished, she pushes it roughly off her shoulders and tugs it off of her arms.

"Finish undressing her, Cosima." She is moving to do so before her brain fully kicks in, and she pauses with her hand at Delphine's belt.

"Rachel, this has got to stop."

Her smile is cold. Cosima shivers, toying with the end of the belt, still in place. "You came to my apartment when you were told. I don't believe you really want this to stop. Now finish undressing her." With a glance up at Delphine, smiling faintly and watching Cosima's face, she sighs and undoes the belt, tugging it off. Soon Delphine is naked. Delphine seems to spend a lot of time naked lately.

She's not sure she has a complaint about that.

She probably should.

"Stand at the window," Rachel instructs, "I want everyone who cares to look up to see what I own." Delphine steps closer, shaking lightly, but Cosima's hand on her arm stops her.

"You don't own us."

Rachel's laugh is like the sound of icicles falling. "Yes. Yes, I do. Are you going to continue with these asinine protests? I am perfectly willing to gag you if that's what this takes. Window. Now." Delphine's breath hitches, then she steps gingerly towards the glass. It's cooler, next to the window, the late autumn chill outside making the glass itself cold. Cosima sheds her coat and follows. Smiling almost apologetically, she steps behind Delphine and presses a kiss to her girlfriend's shoulder. Her hands slip under Delphine's arms to slide up her belly and cup her breasts. They both groan softly when Cosima pinches her nipples. Delphine's head drops back, pressing her cheek to Cosima's.

"Press her into the window and fuck her."

Cosima groans again, whispering the ghost of an apology into the shell of Delphine's ear. There is a fine line, with Rachel, between fast and slow, enough teasing and too much. The pace never feels quite natural for Cosima's hands. She's learned this lesson the hard way.

She's not sure she has a complaint about that.

She definitely should.

Still, if there is one thing in the world she does not have complaints about, it is the feel of Delphine's skin pressed into her own, flushed and wanting. Cosima urges her forward with her hips, pressing Delphine's shoulders to the glass, catching her hand between Delphine's breasts and window. She pinches again, as best she can, and slips the other hand between Delphine's legs.

Wet. So wet. Cosima's never been sure if Delphine is wet like this for her or for Rachel or, maybe, for the pair of them, and it isn't a thing she wants clarification about. The angle is less than ideal, but she manages to slip two fingers into her, Delphine groaning and pressing her hips back into Cosima's body, grinding against her. The heel of her palm presses hard into Delphine's clit. She has memorized every way there is to make Delphine come. This is one of them.

"Take your time."

Delphine is swearing, whispered invectives in French against Cosima's cheek. Reluctantly, Cosima pulls her hand back from between Delphine's legs. She considers her options, then runs wet fingers up the back of Delphine's thigh. Slow down. Make a show of it. Fine. Cosima carefully presses Delphine forward again, removing her hand from her breasts so that Delphine is pressed nearly flush with the glass. Delphine squirms until Cosima puts her hands on her hips, and then nudges her thighs apart with a knee. Fingers light enough to be teasing, she slides her hand up Delphine's thigh again. She palms her cunt, and is rewarded with more rushed, whispered French.

It is easy to fuck her slowly like this, one finger deliberate, deep, achingly slow inside of her. One finger has never been enough for Delphine, and isn't enough now. Cosima waits until she begs to add a second. Rachel, she thinks dimly, would approve. Delphine is quick to ask for more, just as aware of the game they are playing, and Cosima is only happy to oblige. Three fingers, and Delphine is arching her back and whimpering. Four is tight, almost too tight, but Delphine is soaking her hand and wrist and begging. A tiny part of Cosima's brain wonders what people would see if they did look up and catch them at this. She is small enough that they might only see Delphine, flushed, desperate to come, pressed into the glass. The thought of it makes her groan, makes her tuck her thumb carefully into the palm of her hand, makes her slowly slide her fist into Delphine's cunt.

Delphine comes not long after that, a shaking mess of expletives and muscles tight around Cosima's hand. She waits until Delphine is mostly relaxed, breathing hard but steady again, before pulling her hand out and away. They both groan. Cosima presses another kiss to Delphine's shoulder and steps back so she can move. As they both step away from the window, they catch sight of Rachel, seated in a leather chair, watching them. Cosima raises her eyebrows, defiant.

"Good enough. Get your things and go."

It's the best sort of dismissal they could hope for. Delphine quickly tugs her clothing back on, dishevelled and still flushed. Cosima watches her briefly, then ducks to the kitchen to wash her hand. Rachel makes a disapproving noise that she studiously ignores as she picks up her coat and slips it on. They leave together, silent. Rachel sits in her chair, looking at the faint smudges on her window, and then sighs. She'll have to call the cleaners in for this.


End file.
